Who Cares What My Name Is Anyway?
by Ki-no-Shirayuki
Summary: A certain Minamoto treasure sword is not acting like himself, whether in the possession of his original clan in the Heian period or serving the saniwa in the year 2205, with only a certain Minamoto onmyōji – not Yorimitsu, mind – to blame. Sequel to The First Saniwa.
1. Prologue

"No one knows my secret… and gets away with it!"

Onigiri knew he had incited the wrath of the person before him – for whatever reason – but was physically unable to draw his blades to put up a fight, to immediately leave so as not to anger them any further, or to do _anything_ except look on in utter confusion. The energy chains binding his limbs were too powerful. Though it was dead in the middle of the night and the darkness made it impossible for Onigiri to make out the features of the person, the glowing circle underneath his own feet, part of the binding spell restraining him in place, with the all too familiar _sasarindō_ design in the middle told him more than he needed to know.

_He's from the Genji!_

"Listen up, Minamoto." Onigiri scraped together whatever energy he had left after futilely struggling against the magical bonds to say to the silhouette in front of him, "I have no idea what 'secret' it is that you think I've intruded on, but this is a misunderstanding. I didn't even know you were here all along. Release me right now…"

But it was too late. One short incantation and burst of light later, Onigiri collapsed to the ground, no longer conscious.


	2. 清浄無垢 – Seijōmuku

"_Kono tabi wa, nusa mo toriaezu_…"

"Hey, Shoyō-kun, why the gloomy face?" a sudden voice from behind immediately interrupted the grey-haired demon's reciting. "Come on, don't give me that look! I took you all the way to this place and all you do is keep frowning at me? You could have at least smiled a little and tell me how beautiful the leaves are or something!"

"Kanemasa-sama, I _am_ in fact quietly appreciating the beauty of the red leaves by reciting a poem – until I was interrupted." Shoyō calmly replied to the pouting other man, a fair lad with long, luscious hair like a black waterfall woven in one neat braid over his shoulder, with one strip of red hair interlaced elegantly throughout. This man was no doubt one of the Minamoto, though lacking the strong, fearless features of Hiromasa or regal imposingness of Yorimitsu. In fact, not just his looks, his very _being_ exuded an innocence so youthful that was impossible to believe could be possessed by someone his age. More than anyone, Shoyō, who long ago agreed to the contract that made him the _shikigami_ of this man, Minamoto no Kanemasa, understood this. Carrying himself properly as a member of the proud Genji surely wasn't his top concern; it was as though his mind was filled with nothing but poetry and scenery to the detriment of even his fashion sense – Shoyō failed to ever understand his master's insistence to always wear that cyan _haori_ that eye-searingly clashed with every single of his kimono. Even the decision to make Shoyō his _shikigami_ in the first place was so he can have someone accompanying him on sight-seeing trips after sight-seeing trips and reciting poetry duets after poetry duets rather than to improve his _onmyōdō_ skills – which resulted in many warnings that it could cause great trouble one day, yet went unheeded anyway.

Kanemasa gave Shoyō headaches more times than not, but the latter still saw no problem with staying loyal to the former, not just because of their shared love for beautiful words and beautiful scenery, but there was something about Kanemasa that he couldn't help but notice, something that seemingly reminded him of the past…

"Don't make me laugh. This isn't your 'quietly appreciating' face. Normally, you look way more relaxed and content." Kanemasa said, still pouting, while driving his fingertips into Shoyō's cheeks to force his lips into a smile, "You're acting really weird lately, you know. If you're having problems or something, just go ahead and tell me, don't keep me in the dark like this! Besides," he changed the subject while giving his _shikigami_ a mock glare, "how many times do I have to keep telling you that it's not _Kanemasa-sama_?"

"I'm sorry." Shoyō looked away and said, "_Kane-san_."

* * *

"_What are you_?"

Having the first words his older brother said to him that day being that question thrown at him in the coldest manner possible when he shook him out of his sleep should have taken Hizamaru aback, and yet it didn't. To him, it was just Higekiri being as forgetful as usual, no more, no less, and his patience had been running too thin from shaking his brother awake too long to notice anything different. "What do you mean 'what are you'? Yes, I appreciate your trying to practice remembering my name, but now isn't the time to prioritize that when we have _a ton of work to do_!" without letting Higekiri answer, Hizamaru pulled him up from the _futon_, changed his clothes within the blink of an eye and forcibly dragged him out of the room and down the hallway, leaving a trail of angry stomping noises in his path, accompanied by constant grumbling from his mouth, letting Higekiri's sock-clad heels drag on the wooden floor.

Or rather who he thought was Higekiri. Inside the body of the blond sword was a jumbled mess of shock, bewilderment and utter confusion as the real soul inside that body at the time failed to comprehend just what strange place he woke up in, where on earth that dratted Minamoto went or why this green-haired person in hideous clothing – if he could call that black full-body fabric wrap _clothing_ – had to force him into equally hideous clothing, which was starting to _itch_ for good measure, and drag him down a strange corridor. Everything around him was so _alien_, he couldn't even get annoyed at the fact he was being dragged like an oversized stuff animal. There was only one thing he was sure of amidst all his confusion, which was that this all had got to be a _dream_, a dream which he wanted to wake up from by any means necessary, even _death_.

And that he would give anything to be able to drink the blood and eat the intestines of the damned Minamoto who inflicted this dream on him.


	3. 極楽蜻蛉 – Gokurakutonbo

"… _Sode no namida no, aki no shiratsuyu_."

Shoyō counted himself lucky for being able to recite a complete poem this time before his master did something weird again. The mood could not be more perfect – just the two of them by a crystal-clear stream, with nothing surrounding them but the symphony of flowing water and singing birds accompanying the elegant dance of red leaves in the air – until it was ruined by a flash of energy as Kanemasa performed a spell on a sparrow perching on his shoulder while he was busy writing his poem. "What have you done to that bird?" asked Shoyō as the sparrow toppled from his master's shoulder onto the leaf-covered forest floor.

"I don't want any creature to see my poem before it's finished." Kanemasa answered casually, not even looking up from his paper at his _shikigami_ or the poor bird.

"But it's not like that bird can understand the words or speak human tongue to other people about your handiwork. Is it really needed to take the life of a harmless creature?"

"Relax, Shoyō-kun, I didn't take its life. All I did was a slight alter in its memory, so it will remember nothing of what it saw written on the paper." Kanemasa carried on, pointing at the sparrow that had fully regained its consciousness and was singing… if one could call it singing: the noise that left it throat sounded less like singing and more like clucking, as though it was imitating a chicken, "See? It's alive!"

"But it's not acting normally! Kanemasa-sama, would you please look at it for a moment?" Shoyō said, only managing a tiny pinch of pride to keep himself from losing his perpetual composure and panicking, "You haven't exactly mastered _onmyōdō_ and mind alteration is a difficult technique, do you think it advisable to cast it so recklessly? Kanemasa-sama, are you listening to…"

"Oh come on, it'll be _fine_." Kanemasa dismisses while the sparrow-chicken ran off, still letting out a trail of the ear-piercing, dreadful mixture of singing and clucking, "Besides, what did I tell you about addressing me?"

"K… Kane-san." Shoyō uttered, eyes still not leaving the poor bird.

* * *

If only the soul inhabiting Higekiri's body right then was in the body of someone else instead, his cries would have been heard. Mikazuki's, and others would notice the sudden lack of hearty laughter. Midare's, and the sudden switch to masculine speech patterns and absence of immature innuendos would not go unnoticed. Yagen's, and others would question where his medical knowledge went. Kashū's, and at least one person would ask why he was paying less attention to his appearance than usual. It couldn't have been just the spell, it must have involved a particularly cruel maneuver from the Powers that Be above that it ended up being Higekiri, oh so forgetful and goofy and ten-thousand-times damned _Higekiri_, that Onigiri's soul had the misfortune of being housed in. Every time he didn't know someone's name, it was attributed to Higekiri's usual allergy to remembering any names longer than two morae, and sometimes not even then. Every time he asked where he was, it was attributed to Higekiri's acting "airheaded" as normal. Everything he said and did, instead of garnering any modicum of concern for how utterly clueless he clearly was, all looked _normal_, leaving him with no way out.

To add insult to injury, latest in the chain of disaster he was caught in, he was dragged into the fields to work as though he was a farmer, his hands more suited to the sword than the spade and hoe flinging dirt all over his body, staining the blond mop over his head and the white jacket over his shoulder into complete unrecognizability. The disgusting filth was bad enough without the laughter of someone, namely Tsurumaru, at the sight of his misery right within his earshot. That was the last straw for him, pushing him to shout at the top of his lungs at Hizamaru nearby, "_I am the treasure of the Genji_!"

A second of silence followed the echoing scream.

"Of _course_ you are! Why are you saying it as if I, your brother, don't know it?" Hizamaru said, which only added fuel to the fire.

"And you are not going to do anything about it? You are still going to have a treasure sword perform all this filthy labor as though he's no more than a mere farmer?" Onigiri continued to shriek, "I don't know who you all are or what you're planning to do to me, but I _demand_ more respect than this. This is unaccept…"

He didn't get to finish before the filth covering him was quickly topped with an accidental lump of horse excrement flying his way from a clueless Namazuo, and soon the entire Citadel was shaken by a scream so loud that nearly reached the sky.


	4. 酔眼朦朧 – Suiganmōrō

It was a quite eventful day for Shoyō, more eventful than he expected. Any more eventful and he would be in a state most aptly described as making being sentenced to eternal damnation in the lowest level of the Burning Hell look like a trip to the hot springs.

Being the _shikigami_ of the onmyōji poet with a peculiar mind that was Kanemasa was never idyllic in the first place, but he never thought _this_ would happen. He willingly traded his formerly peaceful and quiet life for constant interruption of supposedly silent moments to appreciate beauty or compose poetry out of his master's perpetual need for chatter, gratuitous and unnecessary use of _onmyōdō_ despite his skills' not even being close to average, the "Kane-san" problem, or a myriad of other things brought about by his master's childish mindset, but he never thought _this_ would happen. He had to save his master from several malicious individuals on numerous occasions, like that horned kotoist who refused to let them go unless they listened to his frustratingly long recital until a stroke of magical ink to his face forced him to free them, but he never thought _this_ would happen.

_Kanemasa was missing_.

* * *

"_Where am I_?"

The voice of the groggy Minamoto demon sword slung over the gourd on Shuten-dōji's back sounded a tad higher and softer than usual, but his ears were not fine-tuned enough to hear any difference. "I never thought I'd ever say this, but man, you're _drunk_." Shuten-dōji said, not even looking back. "I told you not to overdose on that stuff. _Shinshu_ ain't to be taken lightly. Only I'm strong enough to drink a lot of it. Ibaraki-dōji drank more than a plate of that stuff once and he couldn't tell a monkey from a crab and was convinced he was a persimmon. That was a mess. But that's nothing compared to…"

Whatever was left of his rambling story fell on deaf ears as he carried on, assuming the silence from the other man to be his swallowing every of his words rather than the complete puzzlement rendering the soul inside said man's body unable to utter another word that it was. However, unlike what one would expect, it was not puzzlement at finding himself in a wholly different environment from the one he went to bed in; it was at how _familiar_ everything around him was, from the forest surrounding him to the red-haired man he was draped over. It was certainly not where he went to bed the previous night, but he couldn't help the feeling that he _had_ been here before even though he couldn't tell _where_. Blaming his notoriously unreliable memory, he finally managed a weak whimper, "I _am_ drunk…"

"As if I don't know that." Shuten-dōji said, "And that's why I'm taking you home to your 'daddy' so he can justly 'discipline' you… haha, sorry, that never gets old." he laughed at his own joke, "But come on, who doesn't know you're that guy's most treasured _wakashū_, we all know what's gonna happen tonight when you're returned well and alive to his estate…"

At that, Higekiri's confusion about the strange familiarity of everything around him vanished in place of a shocking realization that hit him with the impact of a thousand lightning bolts.

_I am not a sword, but in fact a poetry collection?!_


	5. 大味必淡 – Taimihittan

Swords were weapons. Weapons were meant for the battlefield. So it always was, so would it always be. It was a fact Dōdanuki thought even newborns knew, much less a university professor who had written books and appeared on television. And yet, for some reason forever out of his grasp, the instrument of death and bloodshed fit for warriors very much designed for combat that was Dōdanuki was stuck doing boring household tasks at the mercy of said professor more than once. He didn't know whether his master truly meant what they said when they told him this was what university students felt like being forced to take courses not related to their majors that ended up benefiting them in the long run, forgetting that the Citadel was _not_ a university, or whether they were only getting kicks out of doing this to him, but either way, he was _sick_ of it. That alone was bad enough, but one would wish for all _kami_ to bless him once he was assigned to supervising cooking duty – not only could he not _stand_ working in the kitchen, adding fuel to his fire was those ten-thousand-times damned "food critics", those asshole swords seemingly only waiting for an opportunity to piss him off.

"_This soup is too bland_."

"_This potato is too soft_."

"_The coating of these fried shrimps is not crispy at all and is slipping off_."

"_This curry has the consistency of diarrhoea_."

"_I was going to call this dish inelegant, but fortunately enough, my better judgement prevented me from doing the stupid thing that is granting that_ compliment_ to this… travesty that I can't find, nor do I_ wish_ to find because my tongue has been defiled enough, an expression foul enough to refer to as. This dish personally_ insults_ me, not because it tastes horrible, but because apparently someone thought serving this to everyone sitting in this dining hall a good idea. May whoever supervised the preparation of this thing meet ten thousand deaths_."

It was almost admirable how Dōdanuki managed to always keep himself from exploding into tirades along the lines of _who gives a rat's ass what it tastes like, it's fuel, either shut the fuck up or starve_, though it was mostly fear that the attendant Nansen would rat him out to his master and he would end up on cooking duty more frequently if he truly did so that helped him keep his mouth shut. This time was no different, though fortunately for him, the "food critic" that day, Ishikirimaru, was slightly less unbearably hateful with his criticism.

"Masakuni-san, were you supervising the kitchen today?" Ishikirimaru called when he walked past his table.

"Yeah. What is it? Hurry up, I don't have time." Dōdanuki said.

"Who seasoned this _suiton_ soup?" he asked, holding up the bowl of dough soup he was sipping from earlier, "There's something really strange about its flavor, like…"

"Too much salt, isn't it?" Dōdanuki interrupted, "Yeah, the blond Genji seasoned it. He's a real son of a bitch today. Flailing in the kitchen whining about how he 'deserves more respect' and wants to 'eat the liver of that Minamoto bastard' and some shit. Oh, and cackled like a madman. Who the hell does that airheaded bastard think he is anyway? What a block of shit."

"I sense something entirely different about this soup, but it's not about the flavor." Ishikirimaru continued, "A strange _energy_ has been imbued into the soup, one that is different from that of any of us. This energy is also laced with a presence of _magic_ which I haven't yet recognized as well as a potent breath of _demonic aura_, of a completely different brand from us _tsukumogami_'s. _Something_ is definitely off in the kitchen, and of course the Citadel."

Ishikirimaru halted as soon as he noticed Dōdanuki's dumbfounded expression. It took a whole five seconds of awkward silence later for he to follow up with, "And yes, there also _is_ too much salt."

* * *

The Minamoto wasn't one of the most feared onmyōji clans in all of Japan without a reason – it was extremely hard to take them by surprise. Everyone, from its head to its lowest servants, were always prepared, at times _too_ prepared for their own good. Such was the reason no one was the least bit startled or shocked by the sight of the clan's treasure returned to them with his eyes wide open, his mouth agape and his entire body frozen stiff as a rock. Everyone knew what to do – five strong men hauled the one they thought was Onigiri onto their shoulders as though he was a plank of wood and carried him to the quarters of his master – as if it was the most normal thing in the world, as if Onigiri's showing up at their gate temporarily deprived of all ability of human interaction was just something that happened everyday.

They indeed knew what to _do_, but didn't know what was _going on_.

Which only naturally lead to the quite amusing exchange – or lack thereof – that later ensued between "Onigiri" and the onmyōji Minamoto no Yorimitsu once the still stone-faced men dropped him unceremoniously into the latter's room. Greeting him behind the curtains leading to said room was Yorimitsu, except with his upper body completely bare and a length of red rope in his hands…

"Onigiri" went from stiff as a rock to full-blown unconscious.

The Minamoto was thrown into true panic.


	6. 狂喜乱舞 – Kyōkiranbu

Even back-breaking labor in the fields that would still ultimately fail to feed a perpetually hungry mouth would be a more preferable fate than the one he was living, so thought one of Yorimitsu's less fortunate manservants.

He cursed the Minamoto and all their chaoticity to the deepest Hell and beyond. He wondered why they couldn't be a mite more like the Fujiwara, spending their refined days in their lavish palaces nourishing their minds with beauty and elegance instead of stirring up battles after chaoses, pulling countless hapless servants and retainers into the frays. This time was no different – the complete disarray the clan was thrown into due to Onigiri's sudden unconsciousness was the biggest one since that time Yorimitsu found out what the word _tenshiki_ actually meant, and naturally, lesser servants like himself got the worst of it. _You idiot, bring Onigiri-sama more water_. _Have you no brain? Don't smother him in blankets_. _For the love of me, you call that fanning? Put those arms to good use, fan harder and don't let Onigiri-sama die from heat, or I might cut off those useless arms of yours_. The only way one could get anywhere close to aptly describing the effect this had on him was saying it was _getting on his nerves_, and before said nerves could snap completely, the poor servant decided to take the only wise course of action.

_Storm off to his lord and loudly renounce his loyalty, consequences be damned_. Either having to live out the rest of his life as a poor farmer or not even getting to live at all, with his head no longer between his shoulders, would still be much better than continuing letting the clan repeatedly grind him underfoot.

… But before he could even let a single word in, Yorimitsu already jumped out from his room as soon as his angry footsteps reached his ears, short of toppling him to the floor and squishing him into a fine paste with his sheer muscles and weight. "How's my sword? Is he alright? I know it! Please tell me my sword is still alive and well, Chazuke!"

"I'm _Yasue_, m'lord." the servant corrected, trying to keep his suppressed rage from igniting at yet another instance of his lord's not bothering to remember his name, but just as he opened his mouth, Yorimitsu cut him off again, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him back and forth with reckless abandon.

"Let's not waste any more time, we need to check up on Onigiri immediately. Hazure, I cannot thank you enough for saving my treasure sword." Yorimitsu gushed, not heeding his servant's nearly foaming at the mouth from his vigorous shaking.

"_Yasue_, m'lord…" the servant weakly breathed out the words as soon as the shaking stopped, but his dizziness barely subsided when he felt something the size of two adult fists shoved into his mouth.

"This is your reward. Come with me, Basuke." Yorimitsu commanded, and Yasue gave up trying entirely as the object in his mouth – one of those oversized millet mochi his lord loved to cook up for his men – prevented him from saying anything else.

The spectacle that greeted the two once the _kabeshiro_ curtains were swept aside to reveal Onigiri sitting upright on the _futon_ nearly had Yorimitsu collapsing from a heart attack. Little did they know, Onigiri, or rather who they thought was Onigiri, was also as close to having a heart attack as Yorimitsu was. He was so shocked, even more so than before, he couldn't fall unconscious again. The _sasarindō_ sigil plastered about the room, dyed on the curtains, drawn in brush strokes on the wallscrolls, embossed in gold on the open fan in the _tokonoma_, all of them was a full-on assault on "Onigiri's" senses. It didn't take long for Yorimitsu to notice his staring blankly forward at length, and so he rushed to his sword's side, gently shaking his shoulder, calling, "Onigiri, are you alright? Do you see me? Do you remember your master?"

"This is the Minamoto…" "Onigiri" hoarsely croaked after a few seconds.

"Yes, and?" Yorimitsu pressed, barely containing himself, making Yasue at the door wish he could sigh in exasperation.

"And you are… Minamoto… no…"

"Onigiri's" voice died out again and he was once again stiff like a statue. A moment of tense silence ensued, with Yorimitsu worrying he would cough up blood and collapse to the floor a bloody mess like he once did, until it was abruptly and ruthlessly broken when "Onigiri" surged forward to engulf his master into a hug.

"… _Toshiyori-sama_! It is all clear now! I have been sent back to spend a poetic and beautiful life with my rightful master! Thank you, kami-sama, I'll be the best _poetry collection_ my master will ever have!"

At that, Yorimitsu had no other respond but to reluctantly hug his sword back, all while internally asking _am I really that old?_

Yasue smiled, though hardly noticeable from his mouth's still being stretched by the humongous mochi, but not because his heart was warmed by the display of lord-vassal affection. Years of mistreatment the clan heaped on him might not have been undone, but seeing his lord's getting his name called wrong for once was at least the first, and highly satisfying, step to victory. _Sweet revenge_, he thought.

* * *

Ishikirimaru knew it was a lost cause to try convincing the entire Citadel that there was something wrong with the blond Genji sword; he had since stopped whining and thrashing, and everyone else resumed their lives as if nothing happened. Ishikirimaru himself was starting to wonder whether his suspicion was all in his head, the strange energies he sensed in the soup a few days ago were just a product of his imagination, when a stroke of pure luck came along and kept him from losing belief in his sanity entirely.

_He and Higekiri were sent into battle together_.

The way Higekiri, or who everyone thought was Higekiri, fought was unlike anything he'd ever seen. The way he wielded his sword form in one hand and scabbard in the other, _nitō-ryū_ style, was one thing, but the way he ploughed through the enemies with impunity, letting blood shower all over him dwarfed even Yasusada's most sadistic moments. More than once, he and other teammates had to duck out of the way lest their necks ended up "Higekiri's" casualties; it was as though a rampaging monster was taking over him, as though his fangs grew even sharper, the bloodlust in his eyes grew even stronger, and that laugh…

Oh, that _laugh_.

"Is it just me, or is anija acting very weird?" Hizamaru worriedly asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" Ishikirimaru replied, "_That man is not your brother_."

* * *

_Minamoto no Toshiyori is the name of a poet, the compiler of the Kin'yō Wakashū, while_ (o)toshiyori_ means "the elderly"._


	7. 複雑怪奇 – Fukuzatsukaiki

Though Seimei could be and were occasionally found sitting alone in his garden or his quarters sighing _is there no road to peace?_ behind an open fan every once in a while, the fact the everlasting peace and order he dreamed of would be no more than what it was, just a dream, was something he had long come to accept. After all, it was only in the nature of things to be chaotic. Days after days of disruption between the human and demon realms, of overwhelming imbalance of yin and yang energy or mischievous forest demons stealing inordinate amounts of rice cakes were no longer news to him; it was just the way things were, the ever unchanging law of nature that mere puny creatures like himself could only _quell_, but never _alter_. But even with that knowledge, what he and his household faced that day was not like any incidents they had faced before; it was so strange, so unimaginable, they had to wonder whether it was true, or it was all part of some bizarre joke.

_Minamoto no Yorimitsu came asking for their help_.

Never before had Kisei have to expend so much energy to conceal his amusement and prevent himself from breaking into highly uncharacteristic laughter, even though a particularly tense and enjoyable _go_ match between him and Seimei had just been disrupted by the presence of Yorimitsu, his sword and his ever-suffering manservant. Hiding his face behind his fan, he sat back and watched Seimei trying his hardest not to lose his cool and rationality calmly saying to a nearly hysterical Yorimitsu, "Thanks to Yaobikuni and her worldly knowledge, I now have the answer to the burning question I suppose you still have. The term _tenshiki_ means…"

"I'm _not_ asking that!" Yorimitsu yelled, lunging forward to grab the front of Seimei's kimono, and one had his loudness to thank for a giggle that eventually escaped Kisei's throat going safely unheard by anyone else present. "For the love of me, my sword is getting on my nerves even more than the idiot Hatsune over here…"

"_Yasue_, m'lord." came the all too familiar correction from the servant that ultimately went ignored.

"I don't know if some sort of divine intervention is involved, but Onigiri is acting _extremely_ odd. He's driving me insane within a few days even more than the idiot Tsukune in his entire pathetic life…"

"_Yasue_, m'lord, and why a different rhyming pattern now?"

"You see, after he fainted for no reason, he woke up an airheaded wimp who thinks me a poet and constantly asks me to write poetry for him. No, I'm not saying I can't write poetry, but… don't think I don't see you snickering, Yakezume!"

"_Yasue_, m'lord, and why an extra mora now?"

"But this is not what my fabled treasure is known for! The sword that slays all demons on the face of earth does not act like this; though I admit it is nice to have a soft and tender _wakashū_, I want the fearsome warrior that cows even the most powerful of demon kings back, and most of all, I'm tired of getting my name called wrong! Over the course of a few days, he's called me _Yorimune_, _Yoshimitsu_, _Yononaka_, _Yoshiyoshi_ and _Yakuruto_! I beseech you, Seimei, we may not see eye to eye and you may not even remember me, but… you bastard Matsutake, what were you mumbling about hypocrisy just now?"

"_Yasue_, m'lord, and I'm completely certain you were just making names up at this point."

The conversation went on for a moment, though one could hardly call it a conversation when all Seimei did was patiently listening to Yorimitsu's seemingly endless ranting interspersed with Yasue's corrections every now and then. Even Onigiri, the supposed subject of the conversation, was ignored by all – except Yaobikuni nearby, whose expression soon morphed into that of shock and disbelief the longer she stared at Onigiri, into his eyes.

_Can it be…?_

"Well, if there's no way you can help, we shall be departing." Yorimitsu said once he was on the verge of running out of breath after his ranting. He turned around and stormed off, rudely dragging both his underlings by their arms, even as Yaobikuni reached a conclusion and started calling out to them, clearly alarmed.

… but they didn't so much as reach the front gate before Yorimitsu found himself bumping into an invisible wall. Someone trapped the three of them in an energy box with nothing marking its existence to the naked eye save for a pattern of four black circles, like oversized _go_ stones, on the ground surrounding them.

Seimei and Yaobikuni turned around to catch sight of Kisei dryly quipping, "You have been captured." all while daintily fanning himself.

"Yorimitsu-san, this is important matters. That man," Yaobikuni started, seeing as the three had no choice but to listen, pointing at who appeared to be Onigiri, "_is not your treasured sword_."

* * *

Dōdanuki couldn't help but notice Ishikirimaru's uncharacteristic eagerness for sparring that day, but ultimately paid it no mind; finally, he got to spar and he had a willing partner, that was the best Dōdanuki could ever hope for. Hizamaru wasn't willing to brush it off so easily however; the upcoming sparring session was between the three of them and Higekiri, and seeing Ishikirimaru's unusual obsession with his brother as of late, he expected the day he would have to pick out their wedding venue to be right around the corner. What he didn't expect however, was Ishikirimaru's lunging at Higekiri and knocking him to the dojo floor the second he got his hand on a _bokutō_.

"Do not think you can deceive our eyes any longer." Ishikirimaru threatened, pointing his own _bokutō_ at the blond sword sprawled on the floor, "Whatever you're planning to do to us by getting past our defenses with that disguise, it's no use now. If you withhold the truth from us, it won't be _bokutō_ you'll be at the working end of!"

"Ishikirimaru, what are you…" Hizamaru yelled only to be interrupted by yet another unexpected sight – Higekiri now gaining the upper hand quicker than the blink of an eye, now holding two _bokutō_ crossed in front of Ishikirimaru's neck like two blades of a pair of scissors in a position dangerously close to snapping it.

_Nitō-ryū…_ Dōdanuki thought right before joining in on the action, pointing his own _bokutō_ at "Higekiri" from behind, "Oi, you learned some new fancy sword technique and you're not gonna use it to fight _me_, instead using it on that monk who can't fight for shit?"

At this, an inferno was seemingly ignited in Ishikirimaru, allowing him to break free from "Higekiri's" grip in a fashion as of yet unknown and pick up Dōdanuki for the sole purpose of shouting at his face, "_That_ is what you're concerned about? I do have to seriously question your sense of priorities if you're more concerned about that than the fact I suppose even unborn infants and insects know that _I am not a monk_!"

"You _both_ need to reevaluate your sense of priorities!" at this point, it was finally Hizamaru's turn to join in the action, smacking the other two with his _bokutō_ yelling at the top of his lungs. Not too far away from them, danger awaited; "Higekiri" was seemingly no longer the blond man walking into the dojo moments ago. Even with mere wooden swords in his hands, the way his eyes, his expression emitted a deadly aura and an ominous air which did not go unnoticed with Ishikirimaru enveloped him screamed _he meant war_. The resulting storm of never-ending strikes and ruthless hits that let no one have the upper hand even just for a second, that repeatedly threw the other three to the ground and beat them against the walls over and over again, that would definitely see them just a pile of steel fragments were real blades involved soon had them all within an inch of their lives, with Ishikirimaru realizing, to his horror, that _blood_ rushed forth from his mouth.

_Damn it_.

And that laugh, the haunting cackle that would be the catalyst for months of nightmares to come, that monstrous noise that refused to stay out of his mind since the first time he heard in on the battlefield that day.

Once the three were beaten to the point where simply standing up became a monumental task, as if to add insult to injury, "Higekiri" placed one socked foot on Ishikirimaru's bruised cheek tauntingly and said, "I don't know who you are, what you're planning to do to me or what connection you have with that Minamoto bastard who sent me into this wretched place, but I'll have you know, thank your luck for only being on the working end of _bokutō_ for messing with the sword that slays all demons on the face of earth!"

"Neither do I know who you are or what you're planning to do to us," Ishikirimaru said between ragged breaths, "but your foot reeks of malice and disease! How long has that sock gone unwashed? This is not just impurity, this is defilement of the senses to the extreme!"

"For goodness's sake, what the hell is wrong with you?" Hizamaru scraped together whatever strength he had left to let out the closest to a yell, his body too tenderized to even raise an arm, let alone strike Ishikirimaru, "Last I checked, I'm here to _train_, not to play _tsukkomi_ to you lot! Ishikirimaru, you started the whole thing, you hit my brother for no reason, so you should damn well be able to explain all of this!"

"Listen to me, Hizamaru-dono! This man is _not_ your brother! I sense powerful and unusual energy emitting from him, the kind that none of us _tsukumogami_ is capable of! For all we know, that might be a Historical Revisionist who has gained the ability to shapeshift!"

"Spare me your nonsense!" Hizamaru rebuffed, "He goes on and on that he's the treasure of the Genji, the blade that severed the arm of Ibaraki-dōji and a fellow treasure blade. What makes you so insistent that he's not my brother if he knows that story? Or are you saying that entire story, which I can attest because _I_ am the blade that got sliced, is a complete lie fabricated by our enemy?"

At this, "Higekiri" removed his foot from Ishikirimaru's face, much to the joy of his nostrils, and knelt down next to Hizamaru. Voice shaking unlike the bloodthirsty growls from before, "Higekiri" asked, "Are you saying you're… _Kumokirimaru_? Since when did Yorimitsu-sama grant you a sentient form? What are you doing in this wretched place? Did Yorimitsu-sama send you here?"

"Oh yes, _finally_ you got my name right for once, though it's not what I'd expect." Hizamaru replied, "But what do you mean what I'm doing here? This is my home. Yorimitsu-sama didn't grant me this body, the head of this Citadel did, and Yorimitsu-sama died centuries ag…"

Realizing something, Ishikirimaru quickly slapped a hand over Hizamaru's mouth and asked, "Whoever you are, what is the place where the emperor and his court reside called?"

"The city of Heian-kyō." "Higekiri" answered, gaining confused looks from Dōdanuki and Hizamaru, but Ishikirimaru paid them no attention.

"Who is your master and how old is he?"

"Minamoto no Yorimitsu, a man of thirty summers."

Dōdanuki and Hizamaru grew even more confused.

"What year is it?"

The answer that followed was beyond any of Dōdanuki and Hizamaru's expectation, but made Ishikirimaru's eyes light up as though he had just discovered the original text of the Tale of Genji, "_Kannazuki of the first year of Tenryaku_, with the new emperor just ascending not so long ago. Now I do have to question why you're asking me all this. Are you trying to make fun of…"

"Kannazuki of the first year of Tenryaku, October 947 it is." Ishikirimaru said, hopping to his feet as if the brutal beatdown he just received never happened. Dragging along a confused Dōdanuki, Hizamaru and an even more confused "Higekiri", he continued, "We are requesting our master to allow us to escort this man to that year. This, my friends, is a_ mission_."


	8. 渾然一体 – Konzen'ittai

"What do you mean this is not my treasured sword?" Yorimitsu asked, sitting in an undignified lump inside the capturing field nursing his forehead, not forgetting to throw a glare at Kisei, who was still watching him and his two underlings trapped in the energy box with an infuriatingly sadistic look in those indigo eyes he only allowed glimpses of as he fanned himself, the look of victory at managing to "capture" a famed and feared onmyōji. "You better not try to fool me with baseless nonsense, woman, or you might…"

"I do not dare, nor do I have any reason to try to fool you." Yaobikuni said, "The body of your treasured sword is housing an unknown soul; there is an obvious mismatch between the energy inside and the shell outside I observed by a single peek into his eyes. If only there was an explanation…"

"Mind alteration technique." a third voice interrupted, coming from no one other than the ignored Yasue pressed against the wall of the capturing field by two other bodies plus layers after layers of kimono taking up most of the space. "One of the Genji's onmyōji loves firing it out so much, it is a common joke among us servants that the truly most feared Genji onmyōji is not Yorimitsu-sama, but him instead." he said, not caring that he might have put his neck in danger of being severed from saying it within his lord's hearing range, "It's an extremely delicate technique requiring the most skillful of onmyōji, one slip in casting it can cause disastrous consequences. Memories can be deleted, personalities can be altered, one can even remain forever in semi-consciousness. No one knows how many such catastrophies have been caused by his casting that spell at the slightest provocation, that _Kane-san_…"

"I'm afraid we have visitors." Kisei spoke for the first time in a while as soon as he spotted six strangers coming their way.

* * *

Hizamaru briefly thought he might deserve a prize for discovering there was a way to make his brother even more of an embarrassment than he already was. Seconds after the team's feet touched Heian soil, "Higekiri" threw whatever pride he had to the wind to lie down and kiss the ground over and over like a drunkard despite Hizamaru's yelling his ear off to maintain Genji dignity and not get dirt all over the white outfit. Even Horikawa, the only one sympathetic with Hizamaru's plight, failed to help him peel the surprisingly strong body of Higekiri off the ground, and no one else on the team was going to help him, not even Dōdanuki – too busy cursing at everything – or the captain Ishikirimaru – too dead set on keeping his senses heightened to find the real Higekiri's soul to notice the commotion right within his earshot.

Until suddenly "Higekiri" ceased trying to hug the dirt ground as his head snapped up.

Within a split second, he turned into a white blur sprinting past the team at warp speed, and the last thing anyone saw was "Higekiri" kneeling in front of three sitting strangers, his face and hands seemingly pressed against an invisible wall. "This cannot be… either I am seeing myself, or this stranger looks too much like me. This cannot be…" he rambled like a madman, and Hizamaru watching nearby wished a hole would just open underneath his feet.

"Well, I guess the issue is resolved." Ishikirimaru said, smiling, as "Higekiri" continued to make a fool of himself desperately scratching at the wall of energy.

"No, it is not." said someone else, a blue-clad man with long white hair not so far away, "The spell must be reversed by the one who cast it. Until we find the onmyōji who performed the mind alteration and make him return the souls to their rightful bodies, the issue remains unresolved. Now we must…"

"Have you all lost your sense of priorities?" everyone was taken by surprise when Horikawa shouted, sounding as if on the verge of tears, "Especially you, Ishikirimaru-san! How come your heightened senses not notice that one member on our team is missing? _Where is Kane-san_?"


	9. 折檻諫言 – Sekkankangen

By then, Izuminokami started thinking maybe, just maybe, there really was some weight to the age-old adage that no amount of effort could change whatever fate had in store for one's life, that he would still have as much power to decide his own fate as an inanimate sword, and that he should start just sitting back and quietly accept that there was no way to improve his permanently crappy situation.

That his master would always see fit to keep sending him to this wretched, yōkai-ridden era no matter how much trouble he got himself into now and again, no matter how many times he, his brother or his friend told their master to stop. That the situation he predictably found himself ending up in that day, which was worse than all his last times combined, was just the way the universe was. Seconds after his team arrived at their destination, Izuminokami was immediately caught in what could be most aptly described as Kasen's wet dream: body tied head to toe with a surprisingly strong rope of dark, ink-like matter flowing from the tip of a brush resting in the hand of an unknown man, feet wiggling futilely from his suspension in mid-air. He opened his mouth in an attempt to yell only to have the ink rope extend over his face to seal his mouth shut.

The smell of fine calligraphy ink was overwhelming, permeating his senses, driving him to a throbbing headache. Kanji made from the same dark fluid that spelled out _sekkankangen_ were floating around him as if trying to infuriate him.

"I apologize for my rudeness, _Kane-san_." the unknown man said as he kept walking while Izuminokami floated behind him like a balloon attached to his brush, not even paying him a backwards glance. "But I cannot allow you to wander any longer and put your safety at risk. We shall return now; we have taken in enough scenery and composed enough poetry, and I have highly important business to attend to."

Izuminokami wanted to at least let out muffled noises of protest, unable to ask who the man was or how he knew his name, as the ink rope painfully squeezed his body and dug into his face despite being liquid, but right then the two _sekkan_ characters slammed over his face and obscured his vision, and he knew he had no choice.

* * *

"Why do I have to keep telling you to not go too far away from the team? Was the last time we got lost not enough a warning for you?" Horikawa nagged to Izuminokami, or rather who he thought was Izuminokami from his long dark hair and cyan haori, whom he was dragging behind him as he returned to his team. "Good thing you're alright. Now that Kane-san is here, we can go look for that Genji onmyōji…"

He was never allowed to finish the second he made it back and "Higekiri" caught sight of him and the man behind him. The next thing everyone else knew was "Higekiri" ceasing scratching at the invisible wall of energy to growl louder than the mightiest of lions, "_The Minamoto bastard_!"


End file.
